


Until I'm safe in your arms

by Yyydelilah



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, There was always gonna be angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 01:18:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15328551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yyydelilah/pseuds/Yyydelilah
Summary: The rest of the world must know he's hurting, just like everyone else on this aeroplane, but why do they need to see it? How would that help? That should be a privilege only for those whom he loves and trusts.Mostly just for him....Jonas struggles to deal with the early World Cup exit, when all he wants is to get home to the one person he can be completely open with.





	Until I'm safe in your arms

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cafe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cafe/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Tonight I’ll Dust Myself Off](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15130949) by [Bananasplit86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bananasplit86/pseuds/Bananasplit86). 



> For @cafe who requested a fic based on [this angsty photo](https://78.media.tumblr.com/693e9c2ab9c931ca7bcfd7234ac2edba/tumblr_pbpc1cmfPh1qgngj3o1_540.jpg) and specifically requested the pairing - a thank you for the gifs and photos. Jonas deserves all the love (and apparently I express my affection for my favourites by making them suffer in fics)
> 
> Inspired by (cough stolen from cough) @bananasplit86's lovely fic "Tonight I'll Dust Myself Off" - this is a companion piece perhaps (and imitation is the sincerest form of flattery!)

Mostly he's just...numb.

At least at first. No feelings at all really. Just disbelief, like it's not real, it isn't really happening.

Just like one of his anxiety dreams where everything spirals out of his control, unraveling despite his every desperate effort - until the moment he wakes to a soothing voice close beside him and fingers gently stroking through his hair, grounding him and telling him that it's okay, he's there with him and everything will be alright.

Only this time it is real, it's not okay, everything's not alright and Jonas is very much alone.

Alone on a plane full of his teammates, some of their families, plus the national team staff, heading back to Germany after their humbling and humiliating exit from the World Cup.

In some ways the numbness helps. It helps him continue to function despite everything. It helps him do what he needs to do. It meant that, in the immediate aftermath, he could try to comfort some of the younger ones, with their emotions raw and uncontrolled and on display to an unforgiving world.

Jonas would rather keep his feelings closed off as much as possible, away from prying eyes. The rest of the world must know he's hurting, just like everyone else on this aeroplane, but why do they need to see it? How would that help? That should be a privilege only for those whom he loves and trusts.

Mostly just for him.

After the stale, conditioned atmosphere of the aircraft, the heat of the air outside hit like a brick wall. The smell of hot Tarmac and exhaust hung heavy as they all made their way down the steps from the plane and onto the baking concrete.

They were told to wait. There was some hold up but no one seemed too sure what it was or why they had to be stopped here, under the glare of the sun and, worse, under the glare of the waiting press. Jonas could feel the scrutiny of a dozen long lenses without needing to look in their direction.

Some of journalists called out their inane questions to those players who had wandered nearest to them. No one was in a mood to answer.

There was little or no conversation amongst the group. There was nothing left to say. All anyone wanted was to get home, to get gone, to get anywhere away from the eyes of the world and all their opinions. Most stood around awkwardly in little groups, barely meeting each other's eyes.

Almost automatically, Jonas’ sought out some of the junior members of the squad, suddenly looking so much younger than they had just a few days ago. Youthful swagger and bravado was now something much more fragile and vulnerable.

Julian and Leon were standing close together on the far side of the Tarmac looking as dejected as Jonas felt. He had been asked particularly to look out for that pair but, even if he could get to them, he no longer had the strength to attempt to find words of comfort. He wasn't the one who was good at knowing the right thing to say or do. He had tried, just as he had tried time after time with Köln, but as in so many things he had ultimately failed again.

The pain of relegation had been a kind of slow, grinding suffering. The helplessness of having to watch most of the first half of the season from the sidelines because of his injury was followed by increasingly desperate attempts to stop them from sinking, drowning, before a final stinging acceptance.

This was more sudden and brutal and shocking.

In his previous national team duty, the pressure of the bigger stage and the brighter media spotlight had been rewarded by success and, of more value than any trophy, the unexpected blessing of a kindred spirit with whom to share the highs and lows. Someone who understood. But not this time.

Where were the buses to get them into the terminal? The waiting played on Jonas’ nerves. With all the effort of keeping himself together, keeping up the professional mask, he felt stretched thin as though he might snap.

He was startled from his thoughts by a cry behind him. The long journey and the wait in the heat was understandably too much for little David Rudy. His father, rewarded only a black-eye for his efforts in Russia, picked the child from his carrier and held him against his chest, cooing words of comfort and drawing his wife to join their embrace.

This picture of domestic love and support proved all too much.

Turning away, Jonas closed his eyes and brought his fist to grab at his hair. The pain pulling at his scalp was as nothing to that which tore into his heart.

That picture, that loving embrace, that support, was everything he wanted at that moment, and everything he could not have. A loving wife could travel with the team. His love had to remain out of sight, unacknowledged, and absent.

But he would see him soon. That thought gave him the strength to raise his head again. They were on the same soil again. Just a couple more hours.

Hoping that none of the omnipresent cameras had captured the momentary collapse of his carefully constructed walls, Jonas hoisted his case into the newly-arrived airport bus.

…

Finally free to go their separate ways, a few of the guys chose to travel in cars together, while the Munich contingent went straight to their connecting flight. Jonas was grateful to be spending the final two hours of his journey in relative solitude.

After an abortive attempt at small talk, the driver asked if he’d like the radio on.

“No, thank you...or, actually, sure, why not?”

It might be better to drown out his tormented thoughts. He sent a quick text to say he was on his way and then closed his eyes against the glaring sunlight.

…

“No, really, I can take it from here.”

The driver looked at him with something like surprise for a moment, before putting down the suitcase again on the pavement.

“Thank you” Jonas said quickly, to prevent the guy insisting on being helpful or anything else he couldn't quite stand at that moment. “Thanks for everything.”

“If you’re sure” the driver shrugged and climbed back into the car, probably eager to get back to the family he had talked of proudly and incessantly for a large part of the journey, fortunately without requiring reply.

“Quite sure. Take care. Thanks again”

He could feel the smile and wave were forced as he waited for the vehicle to pull away before picking up his cases and making for the house.

The keys had made their way to the very bottom of his bag, and, when at last he had unearthed them, he fumbled them on the way to the lock, his hands shaking from physical and emotional exhaustion.

He didn't need them. The door opened from the inside.

In seconds, Jonas found himself hauled into strong arms and pressed tightly as the door swung closed behind him.

And he let himself be held, let go of everything - everything he had kept inside the thick skin, the implacable, professional facade. He collapsed, yielding, helpless and vulnerable into Benni’s embrace.

So suddenly allowed to feel the frustration, rage and pain of the past days, it was all too much, there was too much to feel. The emotions burst through him, unleashed, and he struggled to breathe amongst the choking sobs. He screwed up his eyes in a vain effort to stem the brimming tears, his face crumpling in on itself. With a silent howl, Jonas clung tight, clutching at Benni as though he needed to know he was really there and not in some cruel dream.

“Shh, shh, it's okay, it's okay now.”

He was half-guided, half-carried to the sofa and pulled into his lover’s lap, still held close against his chest until his glasses began to dig awkwardly into his nose and he wriggled to free them.

Benni shushed him softly and kissed the top of his head, smoothing his hands over Jonas’ shoulders and down his arms, before tangling their fingers together as Jonas’ exhausted breathing slowed and became more regular.

“Hi”

“Hi”, came a mumbled and slightly hoarse reply.

“How are you?”

“Better now I’m with you”

“Me too”

“I missed you” Jonas knew it sounded clumsy and stupid but it was true, and it was so nice finally to be able to be completely honest again. “I missed you so much!”

“Me too”

Benni leant back and, smiling fondly, straightened Jonas’ smeared and salt-stained glasses for him.

Jonas clutched at his hand in earnest, his eyes wide and troubled:

“We fucked up. We really fucked up" he croaked.

Benni nodded and squeezed his hand, eyes closing, his smile fading. He pulled Jonas to him again and kissed his cheek.

“It's not your fault” he whispered.

“But I didn't help.”

“You did what you could.”

“But I just wish...I wish…”

He didn't need to say ‘I wish things had been different’, ‘I wish you could have been there’. There was no use whining but it felt so unfair.

“It doesn't work like that.”

Jonas sighed “I know” and Benni kissed him again.

For a while they lay like that, wrapped around each other, quiet and finally calm. Jonas could feel himself becoming more human again, more alive, more real. If only it could always be this way.

“Sometimes I forget why I’m doing this” he said softly.

“Doing what?”

“Football”

Benni was silent for a moment before he replied:

“It brought you to me. That makes it worth it for me - all of it - more than anything.”

For the first time in a long time, Jonas felt a smile tug at his lips.

“You see.”

“See what?” said Benni.

“You always know the right thing to say.”

“Ha! With age comes wisdom!” Benni grinned and swooped in for another kiss but Jonas ducked away, the faint smile vanishing.

“I didn't know what to say” Jonas frowned and sighed again, “To the youngsters. I tried to look out for them but I didn't know how to help, what to say."

“Don't be so hard on yourself! I love you for trying at all. How are they coping? My boys?”

“I love that you still think of them as ‘your boys’” A glimmer of a teasing smile in his reply, before: “They’re pretty low, I think. They drove back together, so at least they have each other.”

Benni hummed in worried agreement:

“Well that's...They’re young. They’ll be fine”

“And what am I supposed to do now?”

Benni shrugged his head:

“Go on holiday?”

“I don't feel like I can go on vacation, like everything’s fine"

“Sure you can! You need a rest. Put your feet up. Read trashy novels and catch some sun.”

“I don't read trashy novels and too much sun doesn't agree with me” Jonas pouted but his eyes twinkled. 

Benni smiled, but then looked deeply into his eyes before replying:

“The season starts soon. Go back to your club. They need you. It's a fresh start. You start again. A new chance.”

Jonas stared back at him for moment, before he shrank from Benni’s gaze and curled up against his chest again:

“I know you’re right. I just don't want to think about any of it for a while.”

Benni gave a low chuckle reaching out to caress him again:

“Hmm... I think I might be able to help with that…”


End file.
